


Out on the Edge (Screaming My Name)

by ralsbecket



Series: Tony Stark Bingo [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Grief/Mourning, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Protective Tony Stark, Song: Echo (Jason Walker), Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, The Author Regrets Everything, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29019534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralsbecket/pseuds/ralsbecket
Summary: STB Bingo (Round 1) - B1: Go Through MeTony Stark Bingo (Mark IV) - A3: Free Space-They’d gotten there too late. Everyone used to joke with Steve about him being the Man Out of Time, and today of all days the reminder is just a sharp slap to the face. Maybe he needs a slap to the face, Steve thinks briefly, because then at least he wouldfeel something.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Tony Stark Bingo [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923271
Comments: 35
Kudos: 70
Collections: STB Bingo: Round One, Tony Stark Bingo Mark IV





	Out on the Edge (Screaming My Name)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [stevetony superfamily [comic]](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/753084) by tunastork. 



> "I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name  
> Like a fool at the top of my lungs  
> Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright  
> But it's never enough"  
> \- Jason Walker, _Echo_
> 
> Title: Out on the Edge (Screaming My Name)  
> TSB Card: #4056  
> Square: A3 - Free Space  
> Ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark  
> Rating: M  
> Warnings: Major character death, angst/tragedy, canon-typical violence  
> Summary: They’d gotten there too late. Everyone used to joke with Steve about him being the Man Out of Time, and today of all days the reminder is just a sharp slap to the face. Maybe he needs a slap to the face, Steve thinks briefly, because then at least he would feel something.  
> For the [Tony Stark Bingo](https://tonystarkbingo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> A/N: Eternally grateful to my betas - [ChocolateCapCookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateCapCookie) for atoning my writing sins, and [five4fighting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/five4fighting/pseuds/five4fighting) (tar) for keeping my Tony in line. Love y'all <3
> 
> Shoutout to all my lovely cheer-readers who I made cry just from the outline, and everyone in POTS that I lied to about "getting this out in the next two days" because OOPS, HELLO. XD
> 
> This fic has been two months in the making, from when I first saw Chai's comic [on twitter](https://twitter.com/tunastork/status/1331283184625979392?s=19) back in November and, y'know, got my hEART RIPPED OUT so naturally I wrote a fic about it ~~because I'm a masochist, lol~~. Also this was supposed to be a short ficlet?? But I word-vomited??? Hope y'all enjoy!

**_05:26 AM – 8 hours before…_ **

Steve has always seemed to run hot, and it doesn’t really bother him except for the days when a certain _someone_ thinks his chest is the best pillow to lay on, and he wakes up to double the normal amount of body heat.

Steve typically prepares early for his morning run, but with his husband’s body sprawled on top of his, he can’t find it in himself to break the little moment of serenity that he’s woken up to (well, as serene as someone like Tony can get with his staccato snores and dribbling drool. Steve still thinks he is the most beautiful thing to wake up to, regardless).

Steve had found out early into their relationship that Tony’s love language is touch, having noticed the absentminded trailing of fingers at the nape of his neck, the natural linking of their hands whenever they walked, the random cuddling sprinkled throughout the day.

Tony’s hair has grown out enough to tease his natural curls, Steve notices, and he affectionately cards his fingers through them, massaging Tony’s scalp while he continues to sleep. Steve isn’t one for physical affection himself, but when it’s for Tony, he gladly revels in it.

**_04:38 AM – 86 hours after…_ **

Steve wakes up to cold sheets, in an equally cold room. He has slept on Tony’s side of the bed again, and nothing prepares him at all for the lack of warmth in his mornings. The bedsheets remain unwashed because they still _smell_ like him; Steve dreads the time when Tony’s cologne and distinct scent will eventually just… fade away, disappear.

The days continue to be miserable without waking up to Tony in his arms. Steve doesn’t have the strength to turn around in the empty bed to see where his husband should be – he’ll probably never have the strength to, not really – because he still can’t quite believe that there’s just… _no more_. There is no more handholding or hair-carding or surprise-hugging.

There is no more watching Tony sleep beside him, no more butterflies in his stomach whenever Tony blinks his eyes open and smiles like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. It has been, and Steve already misses it.

**_06:37 AM – 7 hours before…_ **

Tony and Steve love shower sex as much as the next person (which is to say, they don’t – at least not after that one time when Tony pulled something and limped around for three days). It’s wet skin on wet skin, and it’s the closest they can be without literally melting into each other.

Steve lathers Tony’s wet curls with shampoo and massages it through his hair, biting back a smile when Tony’s eyes slowly fall shut in bliss. A soft chuckle bubbles out from Tony’s lips when he leans back to rinse the suds under the showerhead, and Steve finds himself scrunching his nose with a grin.

“What the hell’s so funny?” Steve asks, pushing back the hair that had fallen over his husband’s face.

Tony wipes his eyes with his fingers, shaking his head slightly as a wide smile spreads across his lips. “Nothing, it’s just that I…” He trails off, blinking up at Steve with a soft, affectionate gaze. They stand there for a moment, the space silent save for the warm water drumming against their skin and the shower’s tiles. Steve doesn’t need him to finish his thought to hear the _I love you_ that lingers in the air.

He raises both hands, cupping Tony’s face delicately and brushing the pads of his thumbs across his wet cheeks. “I love you, too,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss to Tony’s lips.

**_05:06 AM – 87 hours after…_ **

Steve isn’t sure how long he stands in the shower, just letting the ice-cold water pelt down on him. It doesn’t bother him much, especially now. The only thing he feels is a chronic numbness in his chest, especially after…

He’s toweling off in front of the double-sink when his eyes catch on the words smudged across the fogged-up mirror. Seeing a faint _love you honey buns :)_ left behind from days prior sends a jolt of agony through him. Steve stares at it for a long time, vision blurring with hot tears threatening to pool over, and he can’t decide if he wants to wipe the mirror clean because this last trace of Tony leaves a deeply painful reminder.

His heart hurts again, but Steve leaves it be. Tony’s words are something that he can’t push himself to erase just yet.

**_07:23 AM – 6 hours before…_ **

The kitchen is full of laughter and cheesy, guilty-pleasure arthouse pop music, and Steve’s cheeks burn from smiling so much. Tony’s singing into a spatula as he waits for the bacon and eggs to finish cooking on the stove, busting out the _worst_ dance moves that Steve’s ever seen in his life. He points a finger in Steve’s direction, wiggling his shoulders as he goes on.

_If I told you we could bathe in all the lights? / Would you rise up, come and meet me in the sky? / Would you trust me when you’re jumping from the heights? / Would you fall in the name of love?_

Tony turns around to test the eggs before shutting off the heat. Steve watches him moon-walk towards the far cabinet to grab a set of plates, and he can’t help but laugh at his husband continuing to bounce around the kitchen.

_When there’s madness, when there’s poison in your head / When the sadness leaves you broken in your bed / I will hold you in the depths of your despair / And it’s all in the name of love_

“Daaaad? Papaaa?”

Steve turns in his seat to see his step-son shuffle into the kitchen. Peter’s still wearing his sleeping clothes, and his hair’s ruffled like he had just woken up. Steve glances at the digital clock on the stove before frowning. “Pete, we need to leave for school in an hour,” he starts, fixing the trademark _Captain America is Very Disappointed_ look on his face.

“I don’t feel good,” Peter complains. Tony lowers the volume of the music just as Peter forces an obviously fake cough. “I think I should stay home from school.”

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Steve waves his son over. “Come here, kiddo. Lemme get a good look at’cha.” He lifts Peter up from under his arms, seating him on his lap. Steve rests the back of his hand to his neck (a normal temperature) before moving to his forehead (abnormally warm).

Peter blinks at him once before his eyes dart away, sheepish. He lets out another fake cough.

Steve pushes back the hair that’s fallen on Peter’s forehead, sporting a knowing grin. “Pete, what’s really going on?” he asks gently.

Tony appears at their side in moments, brows rising on his forehead. “Oh, boy, you’re not really sick are you?”

Their son looks between the two of them, and conflict dances in his eyes before his shoulders slump forward. “No,” he admits in a small voice. “I stood in front of the lamp.” Peter leans into Steve’s chest, hiding his face against his father’s neck.

“That’s actually… pretty impressive,” Tony considers, half a smirk on his face. “Huh. You really _are_ my son.”

Steve shoots a look at his husband, hissing over Peter’s head, “ _Tony_.”

Tony presses his lips together to stifle his cackle, but he can’t hide the mirth twinkling in his eyes. “What? The kid’s a chip off the old block! He deserves to stay home just for the ingenuity.”

Peter looks up to Steve with an open, hopeful expression. “Can I, Papa?”

He twitches. Contrary to popular belief, Steve actually does hate being the Bad Cop of the Dynamic Dad Duo. “Sorry, Pete, not today,” he replies reluctantly, offering a small smile. Steve presses a kiss to his son’s hair, shooing him back to his room to prepare for school.

**_08:17 AM – 114 hours after…_ **

It’s abnormally quiet. There’s nothing between them except the clinking of a spoon on the side of a bowl, with Peter picking at the remnants of his soggy cereal. Steve sits silently at the dining table, staring down at the nearly untouched food that stares right back at him from his plate. He doesn’t have the appetite today. Not today.

They’re burying Tony today.

Steve looks up when Peter lets out a sad sigh, and his heart aches when he sees his son without the usual brightness in his eyes. He clears his throat, glancing briefly at the digital clock on the kitchen stove. “Pete, finish up quick, okay? Happy’s going to be by soon,” Steve says sullenly.

Peter nods once, keeping his eyes trained on the movement of his spoon. “Okay.”

For a few moments, Steve watches him. He doesn’t really know what else to say. What _do_ you say to a kid who’s just lost a parent, apart from the comforts he’s already tried? Steve’s trained in many things, but this is just something that never ended up in his repertoire.

“I, uh… your suit’s hung up behind your door.”

“Okay,” Peter mutters, swirling his spoon around in the bowl again. His face is blank, nearly emotionless, when he finally meets Steve’s eyes. He’s quiet as he says, “Papa, I’m not that hungry anymore.”

Steve swallows and makes an attempt to mask the sadness in his voice. “That’s… that’s fine. Just get ready, and let me know if you need help, okay?”

Peter gives him a smile – sad, small, but still a smile – before he picks up his half-eaten breakfast and deposits it into the sink. When he passes Steve again, he leans up on the balls of his feet to kiss his cheek, and then heads to his room.

It’s only when Steve is sure his son won’t be able to hear him that he finally breaks down at the table. He bites his fist to muffle a sob, hard enough to break skin, his breath already stuttering in his chest.

**_07:53 AM – 6 hours before…_ **

“Hey, honey, are you still driving Peter to school, or…” Tony trails off as he walks through the bedroom door. Steve watches his mouth press into a thin line. He questions, “Steve, why are you packing?”

“I, um…” Steve shoves a couple extra shirts into his duffel bag, trying to formulate a proper response that would anger his husband the least. “There’s a mission. Fury and Secretary Pierce both requested for me.”

Tony’s expression twists into withdrawn anger. He juts his jaw forward as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, _and_? You told them to fuck off, didn’t you?” A pause. Something flashes across Tony’s face. “No. No, I’m stupid. You wouldn’t be halfway out the door if you _had_ –”

“Sweetheart, don’t be like that –”

“Next you’ll tell me you’ll be gone the whole weekend, too –”

“– probably, I-I-I can’t give you an answer, we’re blacking out –”

“Nope, no, sir –”

“Now you’re just being –”

“ _Ridiculous_? I’m sorry, was that word just about to come out of your _mouth_?” Tony interjects, giving his husband a hard look. Steve’s shoulders stiffen at the scrutiny.

Steve tries, “There’ve been agents taken hostage in the middle of the ocean, Tony. You know better than I do that –”

“But we had _plans_ , Steve!” Tony half-shouts. He scoffs, shaking his head. “It’s your son’s birthday in _three days_. What am I supposed to tell him, huh?”

“Peter will –” Steve’s eyes dart to the wide-open door, and he lowers his voice. “He’ll understand. He’s old enough to understand the jobs we have.”

“ _Fuck_ your job.” Tony stares his husband down, unblinking, but Steve doesn’t back down either. In the end, Tony just huffs, turning on his heel as he makes for the door. “Your first job is _here_ , just in case you’ve forgotten.”

Steve watches him leave, letting out a loud sigh.

**_10:15 AM – 116 hours after…_ **

Steve’s hands shake as he attempts to loop Peter’s tie. Steve knows how to knot the tie properly, he’s been doing it for years, but… Tony had always done it for Peter, before.

The already-healing skin of his knuckles burns, but it doesn’t compare at all to the burning in his chest. Steve doesn’t even have the strength to look Peter in the eye because if he does, he’s afraid that he’ll only see his own disappointment mirrored in them.

In the back of his mind, Steve hopes that Peter doesn’t blame himself. He’s too young to be carrying that kind of burden on his shoulders. Of all people, the one really to blame for Tony’s death is Steve. Everyone had told him that it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t have known, he tried to get there in time. It was a constant barrage of _too late, they were too fucking late_ and –

Suddenly, Peter’s hands are over Steve’s, steady and firm around his wrists. He pauses. Their eyes meet, Steve’s ocean blues to _Tony’s_ chocolate browns, and it’s like there’s an understanding that passes between father and son. An understanding that they aren’t okay, not by a long shot, but maybe one day they can be.

Steve pulls Peter in for a hug. And if his vision starts to blur again at the same time that Peter starts crying, that’s nobody’s business.

**_08:43 AM – 5 hours before…_ **

“ _Captain Rogers, Agents Rumlow and Rollins are waiting for you in the lobby_ ,” JARVIS announces as Steve walks into the living room.

Steve glances up to the ceiling before he catches himself. A force of habit. “Thanks, J,” he says, adjusting the straps of his bags over his shoulder.

Tony’s leaning against the back of the couch, tapping away on his phone as he waits for Peter to come down from his room. Steve drops his bags near the private elevator before moving to stand in front of his husband.

“Hey, I’m heading out,” Steve tells him, cautiously testing the waters.

“Okay, ‘bye,” Tony says curtly, not bothering to look up from the device in his hands.

Steve’s mouth screws into a frown, and he keeps himself from wincing outwardly. “You’ll make sure Pete gets to school on –?”

“Of course I’ll get him to school on time.” Tony faces him finally, a look of annoyance clearly written across his face. He snaps, “Jesus, Steve, I’m not _incompetent_. I was a father long before you were.”

This time, he isn’t fast enough to hide the hurt that he feels. It stings. There’s a look of remorse, however brief, that flashes on Tony’s face before he schools it away. Steve opens his mouth, hesitates, and then abruptly closes it.

“Right,” he settles. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” Tony glances towards the hallway before looking back at Steve. “Your STRIKE buddies are probably wondering where your ass is. You should get going.”

But Steve suddenly doesn’t want to anymore. Not when Tony’s _pushing_ him away like this. God, just the thought of leaving when his husband is angry with him actually leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I’ll get back as soon as I can, Tony, I promise,” Steve says instead. He takes a step towards his husband, silently thankful that Tony doesn’t flinch away, and leaves a lingering kiss to his temple. Firmly, Steve tells him, “I love you.”

Tony looks him in the eyes, and Steve watches as Tony’s expression softens. “Yeah. You too.”

**_01:13 PM – 119 hours after…_ **

The funeral is small, not open to the public. The only people in attendance are their friends, those close enough to being family as real kin. Somewhere else in Manhattan the streets are shut down because the world is mourning right along with them.

Steve is numb, because it feels like time doesn’t exist for him. He’s spent the better part of his life trying to organize the constant noises in his head, but now it’s just… No thoughts. White noise. For the first time, his mind is blank.

Is it from the shock? He can’t be sure. It’s not like people write a lot of books about how it feels to watch the casket of your dead husband get lowered six feet under.

He vaguely registers it when everyone starts to leave. It’s a tearful Natasha and Clint first, before a sniffling Bruce. It’s a bit later that Rhodey and Pepper give him and Peter tight hugs before following suit. Happy’s long been crying alone in the town car, and Steve can’t really blame him.

Steve is numb, because he and Peter sit alone at Tony’s grave, silent except for the harsh breaths escaping their lungs. They’re probably ruining their nice suits by sitting down on the wet grass, but Tony’s not around to yell at them for it anymore. Tears keep streaming down their faces as they stare down at the headstone, at the absolutely ridiculous line between Tony’s birth and death dates which just mocks them.

It’s a short line between May 29, 1970, and August 7, 2016, but that’s just the thing: Tony was not a short line – his _life_ was not a short line, because he once stood tall amongst literal gods and he was larger than life and a superhero and a selfless, giving soul and a lover of loud rock and roll songs and he was Steve’s husband and the father of his child, _goddammit_ , he deserved more than a stupid – fucking – _line_.

Steve is numb, because he’s going through the unimaginable.

It’s quiet uptown.

**_04:48 PM – 3 hours after…_ **

“This is Agent Romanoff. Avengers Tower has been attacked. I repeat: Avengers Tower has been attacked –”

“Tasha, we can’t find Peter or Tony –”

“– Requesting backup, possible kidnapping –”

“Where’s Steve?”

SHIELD agents are all over the tower, but Steve ignores them. He ignores Natasha and Clint too, when they eventually find him down in Tony’s workshop, because…

God, because –

They’d gotten there too late. Everyone used to joke with Steve about him being the Man Out of Time, and today of all days the reminder is just a sharp slap to the face. Maybe he needs a slap to the face, Steve thinks briefly, because then at least he would _feel something_.

“Steve? Can you hear us?”

“…Steve, buddy –”

“Just… let’s leave him alone, Clint.”

The others are trying to figure out what happened, who happened, how it happened, but none of that matters to Steve. It isn’t anywhere near his top list of priorities. He hasn’t moved from his spot, feet planted in the middle of the polished concrete floors of a place that used to be his husband’s safe space.

He just… stares. There’s still so much blood, drying now because they’d been too late. When the others had seen Tony’s body laying on the floor, they’d tried to bring him back, but Steve had known just by looking at him that he was long gone.

Nothing has hit Steve yet. He’s numb. He can’t do anything but stare at the cold body on the floor, and the only thing he feels is a wrenching knife in his chest. Natasha makes an attempt to soften the news but hearing that Peter had never made it to school after Steve left for his stupid mission almost buries him in anguish.

His husband is dead, and his son is missing.

Steve stands there dumbly. Just stands. And stares. He stands in the workshop with tears in his eyes just wondering _why… why isn’t he in the goddamn suit_ until he follows the line of Tony’s arm, outstretched in the direction of the lone standing Iron Man armor. There’s blood on it, too, about chest high like the bullet wounds on Tony’s –

God, he didn’t even have time to _get in it_.

Unless… _Oh, Tony_.

Steve blinks. He feels his heartbeat pick up in his chest. His feet move forward on their own until he stands in front of the suit. “Armor over –” His voice breaks. Steve sniffs, taking in a shaky breath before repeating: “Armor override: Steven Grant Rogers.”

It’s JARVIS’s voice that responds, but it is no comfort to him. “ _Access granted: S. G. Rogers._ ”

There’s a hiss as filtered air escapes and the mechanisms move. The armor’s chest piece pulls back and – fuck, oh God, _Peter_ stares up at him looking distraught with tears and snot running down his face, and he whimpers out, “Papa?”

Steve fucking _loses it_. He sobs out his son’s name and immediately grabs onto him, gathering his child into his arms after hauling him from the security of the suit. One hand holds firm on Peter’s waist as the other automatically starts patting him down, checking for wounds or cuts or scrapes.

They’re both crying freely now, and Steve makes a conscious decision to keep Peter’s face down, to hide his view of Tony’s body because he can do this – he can protect Peter just a little longer, even as they sob and grip onto each other like the other would disappear if they ever let go again.

Steve trips over himself and lands roughly on the ground but it’s fine, he’s okay, they’re okay, Peter’s safe with him. His son continues to sob in his arms, and his chest is aching with every breath he takes. Even then, the words are coming out of his mouth like a stream of consciousness. He presses a kiss to Peter’s hair, hiccupping out, “I’m sorry, kiddo, I love you. I’m so glad you’re safe, oh my God, Pete, you are so, so brave. I got you, okay, no one’s going to hurt you.”

It isn’t until Peter calms down enough to ask, “Where’s Daddy?” that Steve finds the strength to look at Tony and finally _sees him_. His heart shatters because _he’s right there_ , but they were _too fucking late_ , and Tony’s just –

Gone.

**_11:43 AM – 2 hours before…_ **

Tony’s heart is pounding in his ears as he and Peter slip into his workshop from the private elevator. He makes sure that the door locks tight behind him, feeling the slightest bit of relief as they get sealed in.

“Daddy, what’s – what’s going on?” his son asks, gripping tight around his waist as they walk further into the workshop.

“I’m not sure, Petey-Pie, but we’ll be safe here,” Tony reassures him, hoping that the uncertainty in his voice isn’t obvious.

The Avengers Tower’s emergency protocols have been shut down somehow, somewhere, by someone. There are unidentified agents slinking around the lower floors which house the SI offices, and by the looks of it are attempting to gain access to the private apartments and penthouse.

SHIELD is coming. Someone has tripped security and alerted them, JARVIS relays. “You’re going to be fine,” Tony says almost distractedly. He isn’t sure who he’s trying to comfort more – Peter or himself. It doesn’t help much either way. “We’re going to be fine.”

**_12:34 PM_ **

Steve’s Quinjet is probably breaking the sound barrier trying to fly through the skies to get back to them as soon as humanly possible. It’s the only thought that eases Tony’s worry as explosions start going off in the lower floors.

Peter is plastered to his side, shaking violently, his fingers twisting so tightly into Tony’s shirt that his knuckles are turning white. He wraps one firm arm around his son, keeping a hopefully comforting hand at the back of his head. Tony shushes Peter, holding his child close even as the gears in his mind start to turn.

SHIELD is coming. There’s a rescue team already on the way. They’re supposed to be fine. They’re safe in the workshop, he hopes. People are coming for them. But as the blasts keep coming closer, Tony starts to think – yeah. Yeah, okay, maybe it’s time to try and protect themselves.

**_12:49 PM_ **

“ _Sir, I regret to inform you that leaving the security of the workshop leads to a fifty-two percent drop in the probability of_ –”

“Not now, JARVIS.”

“ _You and Master Peter are quite_ –”

“How close are they, J?” Tony interjects, pulling the schematics of the tower up on the table. The blue hologram gleams bright; two green dots are highlighted in the bottom floor of the private workshop – Tony and Peter.

There’s an uncharacteristically brief pause. Tony frowns as his AI responds, “ _SHIELD personnel are sixty-three minutes out, sir_.”

“Still? You’re – are you sure?” Tony leans forward onto the table, glaring at the multiple red dots littering the bottom half and roof of the tower. “Fucking…”

Peter glances over from the futon, eyes wide with worry. Tony shoots him a smile, but he has a feeling that his son can see the stress written all over his face.

“Is there no way that we can – ?”

“ _The Quinjet’s hangar has, sadly, been structurally compromised by one of their missiles_.”

Tony almost growls out in frustration, swiping the digital hologram away. He huffs out, “I’ll put on the suit, go toe-to-toe with those motherfu –”

“– _That would be very ill-advised considering_ –”

“We’re sitting ducks here! I only have one suit operational on this floor, I need to get to…” Tony watches his son wipe at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. He immediately regrets letting Peter stay home just to spite Steve. He then turns his head to look at the Mark XLIII, standing tall like a sentinel in the mess of his workshop.

Tony steels himself, settling his nerves. If there’s only one armor, his decision is an easy one: _Peter, save Peter, protect Peter_.

He’ll just have to pray that the others can get there in time.

**_01:21 PM_ **

“No, Daddy, Iron Man’s not going to fit both of us.”

Pressure builds up behind Tony’s eyes. He feels his throat constrict as he chokes out a strained, “It’s okay, Petey.”

Peter looks at him in surprise, frowning. “But what about you?”

“I’ll be just fine,” Tony lies, forcing a smile onto his face. He gestures to the armor, and it begins to slide its plates open.

“How will you stay safe?” Peter asks him, concern dripping from his words.

“Your old man has a few tricks up his –” A blast. Louder. Closer. The walls shake just as the overhead lights flicker for a moment. His blood runs ice-cold in his veins. Tony puts a hand to Peter’s back, pushing him forward. “Go, Pete. Get in. Now isn’t the time to be arguing with me.”

“But Dad –”

Tony’s voice breaks as he snaps, “Peter Benjamin Stark, get in the damn suit!” Tears start to blur his vision, but he blinks them away. His son looks terrified, and so is he, but he can’t show it. Not to Peter. He has to be strong and brave for his only child, even as their enemies try to blow a fucking hole into the workshop.

They’re running out of time. Tony’s mind catalogues his next steps for after Peter gets safely into his armor – he’ll run into decontamination on the other side of the room and pray to a god he doesn’t believe in.

He helps Peter climb into the armor, and his heart physically hurts when Peter looks up at him again, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Dad, I’m scared,” he whispers, sniffling. “I want Papa.”

Tony lets out a sob. He feels his own tears start down his face, but he doesn’t care anymore. “I do too, Pete,” he admits. A deep frown forces itself on his mouth when he thinks about the last time he’d seen Steve, and he wants to kick himself. Why does he always have to be a fucking asshole?

Another blast, and something shatters. Whoever infiltrated the tower is on the floor. Tony panics, wipes his tears with the back of his hand, and takes a steadying breath. He places both hands on Peter’s face, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Tony sniffs, brushing tears from his son’s face. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah. I love you too,” Peter manages between sobs, his face falling. They’re both crying now. “Daddy, please –”

Peter’s a smart kid. Stupid smart. He gets it from Tony. There’s no doubt that he’s already figured out how low chances are that Tony is going to survive this. It hurts Tony to think about it, and his chest aches where the Arc Reactor used to be. He presses a firm kiss to Peter’s hair, breathes him in one last time.

He’ll never get to say goodbye to Steve.

**_01:37 PM_ **

The armor closes as a final blast rocks the room. Glass shatters into the workshop as the windows blow in. Tony presses his palm to the chest piece, clearing his throat as he says, “Armor lockdown: Anthony Edward Stark.”

He doesn’t even have a chance to take a step away before _one, two, three_ bullets hit him straight through the back, and suddenly he’s on the floor, and wow, huh, that actually kind of hurts.

Tony gasps in pain as it ripples through him, fuck, everything hurts, and he can’t fucking breathe. He reaches out to the suit, tries to call out his son’s name. _Peter, Peter, Peter’s safe, he’s safe, Steve, I got him_.

His head starts to spin, that’s the blood loss, probably, he’s bleeding out because he got shot anyway, but it’s okay. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile because he remembers the first time he and his husband fought, back when they weren’t husbands and were just barely teammates really.

Steve had pegged him as someone who wouldn’t make the sacrifice play, as someone who’s willing to lay down on a wire and let someone else crawl all over him. _I proved you wrong, didn’t I, you big dumb beautiful blond human?_

**_01:43 PM_ **

He remembers the first time he kissed Steve, rough and angry and hungry, before he got shoved into an alcove where anyone could have walked past and seen them. He remembers the moment Peter was born, how he couldn’t stop staring at the little tiny human in his arms, and realized for the first time what true love is.

Tony can’t breathe, but it’s okay. He doesn’t hurt much, anymore.

He hears gunshots. Maybe. He can’t be sure.

He remembers the first time he’d flown the Iron Man suit around Malibu. He remembers nearly drowning in the cave when his captors tried forcing him to make the missile. He remembers the first time he’d woken up with Steve lying beside him in bed, the way his heart stuttered when he got a glimpse at the blue eyes that he vowed to love for the rest of his –

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Feel free to scream at me in the comments ^-^ ([Check out my linktree for tumblr, discord, and other socials!](https://linktr.ee/ralsbecket))
> 
> Also, the song Tony dances to in the kitchen scene is _In the Name of Love_ by Martin Garrix and Bebe Rexha.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I just wanna feel alive (and get to see your face again)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29136825) by [Bleakloft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleakloft/pseuds/Bleakloft), [ralsbecket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralsbecket/pseuds/ralsbecket)




End file.
